Sacrilege
by followthattardis
Summary: "Righteous? I think you're mistaking me for someone."


"Look what he did to you."

The words are muffled by the blood rushing through his ears, spilling over his forehead, gushing from the fresh cuts across his skin. Castiel makes a move to roll over to his side, but the Leviathan forces him down with a blade against Cas's throat.

"Pathetic," he drawls, studying Castiel as if he was a particularly intriguing butterfly specimen. "They didn't teach you this at Bible camp, did they? Never get too close to the humans if you value your status quo."

Cas grunts, and though immobilized under the edge of a knife grazing his neck, he doesn't neglect to convey just how much he disagrees.

"Bullcrap."

The Leviathan bursts out with a loud, raucous laughter, and it's terrifying, all teeth and malice.

"Somebody's been working on their lingo. As if there weren't more ways for you to fall, now you're even talking like your human."

Cas snarls as the Leviathan pushes his weight on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

"Before I mercy kill you, explain this to me, angel. I'm older than you, and I cannot comprehend this. Why do you care about that vermin?"

The Leviathan's face – or rather the face of a young, dark-haired man the Leviathan is wearing - sports the expression of genuine curiosity. For a moment Cas pities him, and that's pretty rich, considering the creature is about to kill him without batting an eyelash. But the Leviathan doesn't understand, and he never will, that there are things worth falling for.

"This is why Father locked you away," Cas rasps, fruitlessly squirming under the Leviathan's weight.

"Why? Because we don't break like you?" The Leviathan smiles again, and it's almost impossible how a human face can make a grimace like this.

"Because that's what happened, angel. He broke you. You _let_ him break you. I'm just curious how you could allow this." The monster cocks his head, as if pondering on Cas's questionable life choices.

Cas closes his eyes and stops struggling, body going limp against the Leviathan's blade. There's a constant thrum of the river flowing in the distance, and the ground is hard and uncomfortable against his back. The leaves rustle somewhere overhead and Castiel is tired.

He was never going to get out of Purgatory anyway. There was a reason God built this place and locked the Leviathans in it – they were too clever, too fast, too strong and too dangerous to exist out there, in the world created for fragile, breakable beings like humans. Here, though – the hunt began the second he and Dean landed, and it was only a matter of time before one or other Leviathan finally caught up to them. Cas could only be thankful it happened when they decided to split, Dean and Benny going upstream to catch some fish while Castiel left their makeshift camp in the opposite direction to fetch some firewood.

At least now, without him drawing every monster's attention with his grace glowing like a Christmas tree, Dean has a chance to get away from here. Good.

"You really gonna let me kill you without a fight?"

Cas makes an effort to open his eyes again, and briefly registers that the Leviathan's smile is just as fugly as before.

"I didn't take you for a quitter, Castiel. Where is this righteous warrior of God I heard so much about?"

Cas almost laughs at that.

"Righteous? I think you're mistaking me for someone."

Suddenly the blade is gone, leaving a thin trail of blood across Cas's neck, and the Leviathan springs upright, listening in to the forest around them.

Cas sees it first, because of course Dean would be deft enough to sneak in from behind without the monster noticing.

"Incidentally, the person you must have mistaken me for is right behind you," he supplies helpfully.

The Leviathan spins around lightning-fast, but not fast enough. With a swing of Dean's handmade machete, his head rolls to the ground while the rest of the body collapses at Dean's feet.

Cas doesn't even have time to let out a sigh of relief before Dean is all over him, helping him up and surveying him for any traces of hurt. He hisses as Dean's calloused hands brush over the fresh bruises and cuts, but he doesn't flinch away.

"We leave you for ten minutes, and you still manage to get yourself in trouble," Dean grumbles, but his gestures are softer than his words. Palms over Cas's cheeks, he twists his face left and right, inspecting the dried blood with a deep frown.

"You should get that cleaned before it gets infected."

Cas nods and doesn't say anything, too busy mulling over what the Leviathan said to him. Why does everyone assume _he_ is the righteous one? All it takes is a single look at them and anybody should be able to tell. Even as Dean bends over to pick up the Leviathan's severed head (making a disgusted noise that shouldn't sound as endearing as it does), it seems impossible to Cas how someone could look at Dean and not realize they are dealing with good in its purest form.

Then again, not everyone is an angel and has the ability to look past the physical appearance to see the soul. This has to be it.

"We should bury it," Dean decides, tucking the Leviathan head under his arm and gesturing for Cas to follow him. They make their way through the wood, Dean on high alert as a default, and Cas trailing one step behind.

When they arrive at the camp, Benny's almost done frying the fish over the slow, crackling fire that shoots up stray sparks into the quickly settling dusk. Castiel still hasn't decided if he likes him or not, but Benny's proving useful, and he's keeping Dean safe when Cas isn't there, which is why Cas gives him a nod of acknowledgement as they approach. Benny nods back and turns to Dean, reproach on his face.

"You got yourself in trouble again."

Dean shrugs and sits down by the fire, its warmth radiating in the cold of the evening.

"Not more trouble than usual," he says lightly.

"That's a Leviathan head," Benny scoffs, pointing to the gruesome object sitting in Dean's lap.

"Oh, right." Dean rolls it over unceremoniously, unfazed at Benny's condemning expression.

"What did your angel do this time?" Benny sighs, looking between them like an exasperated parent.

"I didn't _do_ anything. I went out to get firewood when the Leviathan attacked me."

"They're catching up to us." Benny gives Dean a pointed look, and Cas really doesn't like that look.

Dean doesn't seem to like it either, because he gives Benny a warning glance that says "drop it". It's not enough to smother Benny's survival instincts, though.

"If this one managed to find the angel, there's gonna be others. Many more others. We can't fight them all."

"Too bad, cause we have to," Dean says sharply. "This is the last time I'm gonna say this, Benny, so you better pay attention. We are _not_ splitting up. Either we find a way out of here together, or you can scoot."

The silence stretches between them as Dean and Benny size each other up, chests puffed and brows furrowed. Cas shrinks in on himself, because he knows he's the reason they're fighting. Because Benny's judgment is clear and unobstructed by sentiment, and he knows their chances of escaping Purgatory with an angel in tow are slim. Dean, on the other hand... he just won't let Castiel go.

"Fine," Benny spits out eventually, and turns away from them to grab his piece of fish from over the fire. "But when one day we're makin' our way through the forest and a bunch of Levis jump us, you'll know who to thank."

Dean's eyes turn to steel, but he refrains from any comment. While Benny walks away to eat his meal on his own, Dean scrambles to his feet and moves over to Cas.

"May I?" he asks, and Cas doesn't understand why Dean thinks he has to ask his permission, but he nods nonetheless.

Dean flops down by his side, and now they're both facing the river, the purple-orange sky stretching across from them.

For a while they sit in silence, munching on their food and watching the setting light paint a trail of fire over the water.

"Why is there a sun in Purgatory?" Dean asks suddenly, swallowing down the last bite of his fish.

"Why wouldn't there be?"

"I don't know. Because it's not Earth?"

Cas opens his mouth to explain, then closes it.

"What?" Dean inquires.

"I am attempting to find a way to put it plainly."

Dean scowls, but there's a trace of a smile in his eyes.

"I'm not an idiot, Cas. You don't have to dumb it down for me. C'mon, hit me."

Cas hesitates for another moment, but finally he says:

"Purgatory is a different dimension than Earth, Heaven and Hell. Travelling between those three is possible, though in significantly varying degrees, for most species, whereas Purgatory is inaccessible for all."

"Even angels?" Dean asks.

"Even angels. There was never meant to be any traffic between this place and our dimension. The only way to end up here is to be killed as a supernatural creature."

"Or hitch a ride with Dick," Dean adds.

"Yes. My Father didn't place Purgatory in the same dimension as Earth, Heaven, and Hell, because He wanted to make it harder for anything to get out."

"Alright, but I still don't understand why there is a sun in this dimension," Dean insists, scooting a bit closer to Cas – probably because of the rising chill in the air, or perhaps in anticipation of the answer. Either way, feeling his body heat closer is nice.

"Purgatory is the first version of the Earth," Cas says quietly, as if he was revealing a terrible secret. He watches Dean's eyes widen in the dimming light.

"You mean…"

"I mean, the place where we are now sitting is one of the first versions of your planet, or more accurately, just a piece of it. My Father has always been very… thrifty."

Dean has to stifle a laugh, and the corners of Cas's mouth lift upwards.

"So this sun over there," Dean says, pointing across the water, "is like a beta version of the sun we see from the Earth?"

Cas nods solemnly.

"That's so cool," Dean says enthusiastically. "Sammy's gonna flip when I tell him."

There's a beat between Dean's words and the moment they both realize what has happened. They fall silent, and Dean hunches his shoulders, becoming almost visibly smaller. Cas reaches out and puts a hesitant hand on Dean's back.

"I'm sure he will be very interested to hear that," he assures him seriously.

Dean shakes his head, getting himself together. Cas drops his hand.

"Sure he will," Dean agrees cheerfully, smiling that smile that's always fooling everyone but the one person it's now being directed at. He looks at Cas, all "I'm fine and dandy and you don't need to worry about me", when something in his expression shifts, and he slaps himself on the knee.

"God fucking dammit, I totally forgot. Why didn't you clean up that mess, Cas? I told you it'll get nasty if you don't."

It takes Castiel a moment to realize Dean's talking about the cuts that run across his face, but before he can assure him it doesn't hurt too bad and that he's an angel anyway, so even in Purgatory, it'll heal soon, Dean grabs him by the trench coat and almost drags him to the stream.

"Squat," he demands, which sends a shiver down Cas's spine for reasons he's trying very hard not to ponder on right now. Dean squats too, and leans over the surface of the river to wash his hands. Then he takes out a torn, mangled handkerchief and soaks it with water.

"C'mon," he commands, and Cas leans in, knowing perfectly well what to expect but clueless as to how to prepare himself for it.

The wet fabric meets his skin and he hisses, the cut running from his left cheek to his chin firing up with pain.

"Sorry," Dean murmurs, and slightly eases the pressure.

While Dean tends to his wounds, neither of them says anything, so Castiel takes full advantage of the possibility to survey his face from up close without Dean recoiling, and the sight is breath-taking. Dean's face is covered with dirt and dust, which only serves to highlight his pink lips and emerald eyes. Cas distracts himself from the pain by counting all of Dean's eyelashes, so impossibly long they're almost throwing a shadow over his cheeks. 97 in the right upper eyelid, 104 in the left upper eyelid.

Dean leans back to wet the handkerchief again, and they're in for another round. This time Cas studies Dean's freckles. Of course, he's counted them before, but it never hurts to double check if he didn't get it wrong.

All throughout the process, Cas can't help but wonder at how surprisingly gentle Dean is being, working his way through all the little cuts as if he was afraid of breaking Cas with his touch.

_You let him break you_, the Leviathan said.

Stupid Leviathan. The tender movement of Dean's fingers on his cheek clearly shows he would never do that, and implying Dean has corrupted him is practically sacrilegious. Dean didn't break him, he would _never_ break him.

Cas looked at Dean and he broke himself.

"I wish we had some alcohol," Dean mumbles under his breath, and Cas snaps out of his thoughts with all the abruptness of a guilty person caught in the act of doing something highly illegal. Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise, but Cas steadies himself quickly enough, and Dean goes back to cleaning the cuts.

"It's fine, Dean. I'm still an angel, so it will heal in due time."

Dean regards him attentively, and leans back to his heels, surveying his work.

"Fine, whatever. This is all I can do for now. Here," he holds out the handkerchief, and Cas takes it hesitantly from his hands. It's all soaked in blood.

"Rinse it and use it when stuff like this happens," Dean advises, hauling himself up and offering Cas a hand.

When Cas scrambles to stand next to Dean, their faces suddenly end up very close to each other. In any other circumstances Dean would probably bring up the old issue of personal space and how they should respect it, but they have just spent five minutes looking at each other with their faces barely an inch apart, so it would just seem petty at this point.

Dean blinks, and smiles.

"You look better now. You should get some sleep, though."

"I don't-"

"Yeah, yeah, you don't sleep. At least rest, then."

Dean turns his head to look at the sun that has almost completely set behind the wall of the wood now. The orange glow is still seeping in from behind the trees, and another smile tugs at Dean's lips as he makes an amused sound.

"Our first sun. Incredible. It looks like a furious pumpkin," he quips.

Cas doesn't look at the setting sun; he looks at Dean, and the effect is pretty much the same.

_I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be endangering you like this. You're too good to see you should let me go, but you really, really should. Let me leave before I make any more damage._

Dean turns away from the sunset, his shoulder brushing against Cas's.

"Well, I don't know about you, but my human self is beat, so I'm gonna go get some shuteye. Night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean."

Cas watches as Dean circles the extinguished campfire and sprawls himself over the hard ground, tugging his jacket under his head as a pillow. Then he slowly walks over to the abandoned Leviathan head, lying forgotten where Dean left it. Lucky he doesn't need sleep – he can spend the night digging a hole deep enough to prevent the Leviathan from going after them any time soon.

He's about to bend over to pick the head up when he notices the handkerchief still sitting in his palm. He briefly curls his fingers around it, and then stashes it carefully in the depths of his trench coat.

Dean's steady breathing comes over from behind, and Cas smiles to himself as he starts digging, the still wet handkerchief a comforting presence in his pocket.

He kept it later, even after he got out of Purgatory. After they both got out.

Of course he kept it.


End file.
